


Holding Hands

by ichikuun



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Holding Hands, Implied Slash, M/M, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ichikuun/pseuds/ichikuun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An absurdly short drabble on one of the days before Fushimi's betrayal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding Hands

  “Saru!” yelled Yata, seemingly shameless despite in public.

  Fushimi groaned, sometimes it was frustrating dealing with a child, or a childish teen in this case, especially if he was as energetic as Yata.

  The redhead dragged Fushimi to a row of headphones hung neatly and picked one at random, putting it over his ears. He didn’t seem to like it, if the frown was any indication, and tried another one. All the while commenting that this was great, no, this one is too soft. A tug on his arm. Should he buy this? Oh, maybe not. Hmm, this doesn’t sound too bad. Another tug on his arm. Oh, oh, he knew this artist. Fushimi scrunched his nose in the absurdity of Yata’s love for album CDs. The chatter was not unwelcome, but it gets annoying after a while.

  Yata gave no sign of noticing Fushimi’s irritation, but he decided to browse through the endless labels on the shelves after finishing his screening on several more albums.

  Fushimi felt something warm slip into his hand. He was annoyed as it is, with Yata making comments about things Fushimi cared only for his sake. He thought to shake off the thing that clutched on his hand, and looked down to identify it. It surprised him, however, to see a small hand with a tanner shade of skin clasping his own.  
First was the panic, then the shock. And third came the pure elation.

  It was weird how Yata could make him feel a series of emotions in so little time. Most things only serve to bore him, or amuse him for a short while. But Yata. He was different. Fushimi raised his head in question at the redhead. But the latter was smiling happily as if nothing notable happened. Forgotten was his displeasure, Fushimi’s expression morphed from agape to ecstatic. Before he could register his own thoughts though, Yata was already pulling him by the hand to his favourite shelf. He continued chattering away like a monkey, which, ironically, was supposed to be him. He never let go of Fushimi’s hand, neither did Fushimi let go of the hand he dreamt of holding so much.

  For once, he smiled like he really meant it.

  And he did.


End file.
